


put your faith in

by flowermasters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cultural Differences, F/M, Pregnancy Scares, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, time jump fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-04 23:03:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15157460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowermasters/pseuds/flowermasters
Summary: It's about time they had this conversation.





	put your faith in

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to get something up in time for the Becho day of the rarepairs event on Tumblr, but uh, well.
> 
> Warnings for: Becho-centric, pregnancy scare, fluffy as all hell.

It’s movie night, and it’s Monty’s pick, which means they’re watching _Return of the Jedi_. Echo enjoyed the two before, although she did label them _ridiculous_ , which Bellamy supposes is fair; once you start to associate space with the monotony of daily life on the Ark, anything else is sort of ridiculous. But now, sitting on the floor in front of the projector with the others, she watches the screen with a blank expression, hardly reacting when everyone else does. It’s not that she’s not enjoying herself—it’s as if she’s not really there, checked out entirely.

When the movie ends, the others stay where they are, sprawled out comfortably on blankets and pillows. Nobody’s ever eager to stir after a movie ends, unwilling to let go of their 120-minute escape. Next to him, Echo touches his arm lightly. “I’m going to bed,” she says, casually, but quietly.

“Okay,” Bellamy says, frowning. “Do you want me to—”

“No,” she says. “Stay. Keep them from getting too rowdy.”

She smiles, a little fleetingly, and gets to her feet before he can ask his follow-up question, _are you okay_. Murmuring a goodnight to the others and ignoring their groans with a smile, she disappears into the corridor, gone in under fifteen seconds.

He lingers for a few minutes, but his heart’s not in it. If she needs space—no pun intended—that’s okay, but this whole “everything’s fine” act is getting old. Echo is a better liar than that, which means something’s wrong. Besides, he can only listen to Monty, Raven, and Murphy squabble about a two-hundred-year-old movie for so long.

“I’m turning in, too,” he says, rising and gathering up the blanket.

“Night, Gramps,” Raven says, amidst a murmur from the others. “Listen, I don’t want to hear any more about Boba Fett, my point stands—”

When he reaches their room—once his room, but it’s been theirs for months now—the lights are off and Echo is already in bed, her back to the door. It’s barely been ten minutes. Illuminated by the rectangle of light spilling in from the corridor, the outline of her body under the sheets is still. Bellamy shuts the door.

He toes his boots off by the door as usual, then crosses the room in the dark, casting his hand blindly over the wall until he finds the switch for the light next to the bed. “Okay,” Bellamy says, as he flicks the light on. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?”

Echo sits up and looks at him, visibly irritated. In retrospect, he probably should have approached this a little bit more gently. But worry has been sitting in the back of his mind all day, no matter how hard he’s tried to just go on as usual, and he’s ready to get this over with.

Besides, Echo still struggles with being treated gently sometimes, though he’s been working on it. “‘What’s wrong?’” she says. “I was trying to sleep.”

“Echo,” Bellamy says. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

She looks up at him, frowning, and doesn’t speak.

“Just say it,” he says. It is worryingly close to a plea. “Whatever it is, I can handle it. I promise.”

She swallows, looks away, then looks back at him. “It’s not about you.”

That’s a relief, although he’d never admit it. He’s not actually sure he _could_ handle it if she wanted to—end things, or something. He’s grown too accustomed to life with her to go back to life without, at least not without it hurting like hell. “Then what?” he prompts. “Somebody else?”

“No,” she says, tersely. “Me. My cycle is late.”

Bellamy blinks. “Okay,” he says.

“Bellamy,” she practically growls. “Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he says hastily, sitting down on his side of the bed now that he’s relatively sure she’s not about to bolt like a spooked animal. “I just—wasn’t expecting that.”

“Yeah, well,” Echo says, mouth twisting slightly. “Me neither.”

“Hey,” he says, reaching out to touch her upper arm lightly. “You’ve got an implant.”

It’s not that old, either—only about a year. Echo got Harper to put it in not long after she and Bellamy first started hooking up; the implant went straight from the storage freezer in the infirmary and into Echo’s upper arm. Lucky for them all that it had been Harper who’d taken it upon herself to learn basic medical procedures when they got here—out of the seven of them, she was least likely to make any jokes at your expense.

“Do I really need to remind you that you have a younger sister despite one of those things?” Echo says.

“No,” Bellamy says, because Octavia is not what he needs or wants to think about right now, “you really don’t.”

Echo’s expression softens, ever so slightly. “I never asked before, because it never seemed to matter, but—how _did_ your sister come to be?”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy admits. It’s not the sort of thing he thinks about regularly, for obvious reasons. “My mom must’ve had an implant, but it failed or something, who knows. By the time I was old enough to ask, I just—didn’t. But it doesn’t matter, because the odds of that happening are low, really low. How long have you been worrying about this?”

“Three days,” Echo says. “Well. I suppose four, now.”

That explains a lot. He hadn’t noticed a real change until today, as she’s barely said two words to anyone since breakfast, but if he thinks about it, she’s been quiet for a few days now. Echo can be serious, at times too serious for her own good, but she’s rarely withdrawn and never, at least to his knowledge, distracted. The idea that she’s been fretting over this in silence makes something clench in his chest, a surge of protectiveness that almost hurts.

“Fine,” Bellamy says. “Then we’ll get Harper right now and go to medical. She can take a blood sample there, run a test.”

“Bellamy, it’s almost midnight.”

“She’s still awake, I just left them—"

Echo shifts, turning her head away from him, and Bellamy stops in his tracks. Echo doesn’t fidget, she doesn’t stutter, and she doesn’t hide her face from anyone. It’s only then that he realizes how flushed he feels, a nervous, prickling heat all over. She’s right; he knows better than anyone that this is not impossible. It’s unlikely, but possible—nature finds a way and all that.

But this is not about him—well, it is, but only in small part. “Echo,” he says. “Sweetheart.”

She’s not crying, but her voice isn’t the steadiest it's ever been when she turns her head to look at him again. “You just said it was impossible, and now you’re saying we have to run to the infirmary.”

He never said _impossible_ , but he does not point this out. “I suggested that because I thought it might ease your mind,” he says. They’re going to have to do it anyway, within the next few days if nothing changes, but he doesn’t point this out, either. “It’s up to you.”

Echo swallows. “In the morning. When she’s—not busy,” she says. “If nothing changes by then.”

He should’ve known before bringing it up that Echo would never want to cause anything even close to a scene. If they go to Harper now, the others will know something’s up, and even if they pull her out of bed, Echo’s embarrassment over raising a false alarm will probably outweigh even her relief. Bellamy has to admit that things might be a little weird for a few days after this reminder of just how precariously balanced their situation is here. And if it’s not a false alarm—well. He can’t blame Echo for wanting to put off that news, even just till morning.

“Okay,” he says. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

She just looks at him, halfway between frustrated and miserable, and Bellamy doesn’t think, just reaches out and pulls her into his arms. They hug for a long moment until Bellamy pulls back just far enough to rest his forehead against hers. It’s a habit they fell into during their early hookups, before what they had could be called a relationship; it was the one concession to intimacy they allowed themselves, and only in the first few moments after sex. It’s always soothing, sharing space with her in that way. When she takes a long inhale followed by a slow exhale through her nose, it feels as though she’s breathing for both of them.

Eventually they separate, but they don’t go far; she lies down on her side under the sheets, him on his side above them, an arm resting over her middle. They can still share breath like this, their faces inches apart. After a few moments, Echo breaks the silence. “What will happen,” she says, her voice steady now. “If it’s true.”

“I don’t exactly know,” he admits. “But there should be supplies in medical for terminating a pregnancy. Harper can teach herself how.”

He has faith in Harper, and obviously he doesn't know any better, but this is nothing she's familiar with. It’s not too often that Bellamy has cause to think of Abby Griffin, but he thinks of her now.

Echo doesn’t say anything, just watches his face. “Then there’s the alternative,” he says. “I figure I don’t have to describe that for you.”

“No,” she says softly. Echo doesn’t have any experience with childbirth, as far as he knows, but she must have been educated about it. For him it’s practical experience, and watching someone go through labor without a doctor is not something he’s keen on repeating. Then there’d be the obvious issue of the baby.

Their circumstances are so different now that the situations are hardly comparable, but that’s not a comforting thought. Ending it would be much safer— _if_ it’s true, which he’s still fairly certain it isn’t. They’re worrying over nothing. Probably.

With that thought in mind, Bellamy says, “Nothing bad is going to happen to you, okay?”

She doesn’t point out that that’s not the kind of blanket promise he can make, which is what he expects her to do. “Like you said,” she says, her eyes on him. Touching like this always seems to calm her, make her heavy-eyed and gentle; perhaps that’s why it took her so very long, in the beginning, to allow it. “I have the implant. It could be nothing.”

“Right,” he says. Right.

That should be the end of it until morning. He should turn off the lamp, get under the covers, and go to bed. Instead it’s like Echo’s worries have bled over into him, although he doesn’t feel actively _worried_ , just—awake. Preoccupied. Echo’s quietude doesn’t help matters; sometimes she closes her eyes, sometimes she watches him, but she doesn’t move, either, and she doesn’t fall asleep. It’s like she’s waiting, although he doesn’t know for what.

“Have you thought about it before?” he asks finally. “Kids, I mean.”

Echo looks at him, her expression a studied neutral. “Ever?”

When he nods, she sighs quietly. “It was never a possibility, so it never mattered. I lived, and thought I would die, for Azgeda.” She pauses, her expression thoughtful, before adding, “My father served on the Guard at the time I was born, but it’s different for men, obviously.”

She told him about her parents years ago, but he remembers the details vividly. Her father was a member of the Royal Guard under a young Queen Nia; he died in a skirmish not long after Echo was born. Echo knows next to nothing of her mother—only that she got sick and died weeks after giving birth, the only information deemed worthy of remembering by the courtiers who knew Echo’s father. Echo was reared by servants, trained for the Guard practically from birth, and was working as a spy by her teenage years.

Bellamy remembers hearing this and thinking of the single-minded devotion to Azgeda that used to disgust and baffle him, although he’s come to a kind of peace with it right alongside Echo. If that was hard for him to do, it had been infinitely harder for her. Her clan—or perhaps the idea of her clan—was the closest thing she had to a family, at least until the Ark. Until now.    

She’s still watching him. “And you?” she asks finally.

Bellamy swallows. “On the Ark, having a kid was kind of a—civic responsibility, almost, if you could. Carry on the species and all that. But I didn’t see a future in that for myself, not when I’d be hiding Octavia for as long as I could. The rest of our lives, potentially.”

Echo nods. “I had Azgeda,” she says. “You had Octavia.”

It’s not the same, not even close, but he knows she doesn’t mean it like that. Even though they’re from different worlds—somewhat literally—sometimes it feels like he understands her without either one of them having to speak, and vice versa. A part of him and a part of her think and feel in unison, different worlds and all. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess so. But that’s the past, isn’t it?”

She shifts, moving one of her arms to rest over his ribcage. The look in her eyes is—questioning. “I suppose.”

“I just mean,” he says, “that there are no kings and queens to serve anymore. No death penalties. And my sister doesn’t need my protection anymore, even though she’ll always have it.”

“I see,” Echo says, because of course she does. She still looks a little skeptical, a little wary, but her expression has softened slightly with understanding. “So—this is something you want.”

“Yeah, if you want,” Bellamy says, holding her gaze. “I just think that—when we get to the ground, maybe it’s something we can have.”

Their faces are so close together that he can see it when something flickers across her face, a hint of uncertainty. There’s a thousand rebuttals for her to make. They don’t know what life will be like on the ground—they don’t even know if they’ll make it back to the ground. They are speaking of conditions upon conditions. But for once Echo doesn’t point out the logical answer, doesn’t delve into strategy; instead her expression clears, and she smiles, very slightly. She moves her arm again, this time to bring her hand up to brush at his face. “Bellamy,” she says. “You’re so . . .”

“What?” he prompts, raising his eyebrows. “In love?”

She rolls her eyes. “What’s the word? Cheesy.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Raven,” Bellamy says, and Echo huffs. It’s the closest thing to a laugh he’s heard from her in days, and it makes something in his chest feel buoyant all of a sudden, like he’s literally afloat with feeling. It is cheesy, but it’s true.

He kisses her, first on the mouth and then on the forehead. Her eyes flutter closed, then open as he pulls back. “We’ll talk about this again someday,” she says, meeting his eyes. “On the ground.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

At her gesture, he disentangles himself enough to turn over and turn off the light, then returns to his previous position. He stays awake for a long while, listening to her breathing and feeling the gentle warmth of it against his neck. Eventually it slows, evens out, as she goes soft and still in his arms. When he does fall asleep, he’s thinking of her, her soft spots, her warmth, her strength. She will be fine; he's sure of it.

Bellamy wakes at the sound of the door opening and shutting, the metallic rattle loud even as Echo tries to be quiet about it. Her footsteps are customarily silent, but the sheets rustle when she moves them before she gets back into bed. She fits herself against his back, draping an arm over his waist; her skin smells like soap, and he can tell her hair is wet and braided back when she rests her head against his shoulder.

Barely half-awake, he’s most of the way gone again when she murmurs, “I got my period.”

“Told you not to worry,” Bellamy says, though it’s not fair to tease her; he was worried, too. “Love you.”

She kisses his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. “And I love you.”

Bellamy lets himself drift for a while, safe and warm in the last moments before the day; there’s nothing to worry about, at least here and now. They have their health and they have each other. And on the ground, they can have everything.


End file.
